Born to Be Drabbles
by Berserker88
Summary: A oneshot collection of the various moments, characters, and subplots that couldn't quite make it into Born to Be Wilde. How much more trouble can these guys get up to? You have no idea. Main story spoilers abound. Open to requests.
1. Cold Open

_Welcome to our worst-kept secret among certain circles, this is Born to Be Drabbles!_

 _This idea was the result of Mind Jack and I repeatedly going "I wish we could have seen this character more" or "Dang, if only we could have expanded on that." Indeed, there are numerous examples of moments that we would have liked to include in Born to Be Wilde, but couldn't due to pacing and story constraints._

 _The solution is this: a collection of drabbles (or oneshots really, but 'Born to Be Oneshots' just doesn't sound as good) that delve into the various characters and settings of BtBW. We will show moments spoken of, but not seen, within the main story, along with totally new content just for fun. Think of it like the deleted scenes of a movie; you certainly don't_ need to _read these to understand the main story, but it's a nice supplement._

 _That said, there's a certain expectation that you are not reading this until you've_ at least _finished the Lang Family arc (chapters 11-15). Certain revelations from said arc will be mercilessly spoiled in these drabbles, including this first one. And if you're a future reader, you're probably better off just catching up on the whole fic before even touching this. You have been warned._ _Please note that, as drabbles, these will be significantly shorter than the average BtBW chapter._

 _Cover image by the extremely-talented Aseka Red Velvet Panda. I get a little giddy seeing Jimmy and Carla depicted so wonderfully. I know you're probably not reading this, but thanks anyway!_

 _That about "covers" it. Enjoy the stories untold. :)_

* * *

 **Drabble 1: Cold Open**

 _Tundratown_

 _Koslov's Palace_

 _8 : 43 PM_

Koslov was a simple mammal with simple desires. In his opinion, there was nothing wrong with that.

The heavily-built polar bear, huge even for his species, was known in two different circles. He was the owner of a popular borscht restaurant on Fleet Street, but he was also the head bodyguard of Tundratown's crime lord, Mr. Big. Most mammals he met were only aware of one side of him, though he made little effort to hide the other. Again, he was a simple mammal. He did not see the point.

Tonight, he was the former, but would soon be the latter. The restaurant closed at 9: 00, which meant business was quickly winding down. Soon after, he would lock up and head to the compound of Mr. Big, where he would resume his other job. Only one customer remained, and as Koslov's few employees had already left, he would have to take care of it himself.

As soon as the guy decided to get off his phone, that is.

Koslov leaned against the kitchen door, looking out over the dining area. The Palace was, as to be expected, simplistic in design, with seats and tables arranged for most efficient service, a distinct lack of frilly decorations that he personally saw as just a waste of money. You came here to get borscht. If you did not want borscht, you would not come. Why were there so many who didn't understand that?

"Evening, Peggy, how's my favorite trash panda?" asked the customer, a sharply-dressed fox leaning back in his seat with a phone to his ear. "Wait, is that a slur? I always forget if that's a slur. Anyway, I'm just having a bite to eat across town before we get down to business. Are you busy?"

Koslov did not know if this 'trash panda' was busy, but _he_ certainly was. He locked eyes with the fox and pointed to the clock. He had no problem serving someone after-hours, but only if they actually ordered before closing time. Otherwise, he would have even less problem tossing him out on his tail.

The fox seemed oblivious, but Koslov knew he was just ignoring him and growled under his breath. "Good to hear," he continued. "Then do me a favor and give me a quick run-down on what you've learned about our VIP." He rolled his eyes. "Yes, now would be good, thanks."

Koslov's large foot tapped as the fox went silent for a while. "Interesting. And what about the girl? Anything to worry about there?" He started tapping his claws on the table, as if he weren't being obnoxious enough already.

"Crazy like a fox?" He saw a large smirk spread across the vulpine's face. For whatever reason, he seemed to find that immensely funny. But Koslov was not laughing. He glanced up at the clock himself. 8:47. At this point, he almost _hoped_ this conversation would last until 9. He could use the stress relief.

The fox suddenly looked right at him, with an expression somewhere between concern and amusement. He didn't even know such an expression existed. "You don't need to do much of anything. I've already pulled some strings and I can guarantee you the boys won't give you any trouble. So whenever you're ready, just walk right in and do your thing. Once you meet up with our mutual friend, just be sure to give him a special Tundratown greeting." Koslov had no idea what he was going on about and he was quickly losing any interest he had. "Well, _of course_ it's going to work. It's my idea."

Another look at the clock. 8: 48. He was starting to suspect the cold weather had frozen the clockwork.

"Oh, there is _one_ more thing," the fox said, his tone darkening. "You haven't forgotten about my son, right? I'd like to think _you_ of all mammals wouldn't lose sight of our goal, but I just want to have all my bases covered." As soon as he'd heard what he wanted, he perked right up again. "Nah, that's all I wanted to call you about. Good luck and enjoy your meal."

By some divine mercy, he finally ended the call. Koslov chose to waste no further time. "Are you ready to order?"

The fox looked at him like he forgot he was in a restaurant, which tried his patience even further. "Sure. I'll have borscht."

Koslov glared. "All I make is borscht. Be more specific."

He made a big show of thinking it over, even putting his fist to his chin. "Hmm...I'm leaning towards the red kind."

"With beetroot?"

"Is beetroot red?"

He gritted his teeth. "Yes."

"Then I'll take that."

"Traditional then." Koslov turned and headed into the kitchen. He couldn't believe he had waited so long for this. Even heating up the pre-made stock took him a few minutes longer than he'd wanted to spend here and fresh was out of the question. He should've just thrown this nutjob out, but there was a sense of pride in maintaining the rules of his establishment, even if that meant having to endure a little.

He soon brought a steaming hot bowl of borscht out to the fox and set it down in front of him, not bothering to stick around as he walked away again. "Much obliged," he said, lifting a spoon to his lips to taste it. "Hey, this is actually pretty good."

Koslov stopped. " _Actually?"_

"I was just curious how committed you really were to this whole borscht thing," he said as he took another, purposefully loud, sip. "But I can see now that you've really got a passion for it. Perhaps even more than your other job."

He just snorted a little. "So you know."

"I know many things, most of which are a lot harder to come by," he chuckled, gesturing to the chair across from him as he continued eating. "Come on, don't be a stranger. Have a seat."

"I _am_ stranger."

"You mean you don't recognize me?" The fox pouted pitifully. "Funny, I thought our last encounter would have left more of an impression."

Koslov paused. _Did_ he know this fox? He certainly wasn't a regular customer, which meant he would most likely know him from his other line of work. He'd certainly seen his share of foxes through Mr. Big's employment, but most of them didn't make it out of the office again at stable body temperature. The only exceptions he could think of were Nikolai and...

It couldn't be.

"You...you are John Wilde?" he asked hesitantly.

"Is that so hard to believe?" The fox smiled at him in bemusement. "And I go by Count Reynard now, FYI."

Koslov took a seat, still towering over him. "You are different."

"I suppose I am," he said, glancing down at his suit. "It took me decades to look _this_ good." He kicked a long cane up into his paw, turning to point it at him. "But _you,_ Koslov, haven't changed a bit I'm afraid."

"What do you mean by that?" he asked, narrowing his eyes threateningly.

"Well, when I last saw you, you were working for Mr. Big and making borscht. What do you do now?"

"...I work for Mr. Big and make borscht."

"See?" Reynard noted, returning his attention to his soup.

Koslov crossed his arms stubbornly. "I have no need to change. Job is fulfilling."

"Is it?"

"Yes," he growled. "My borscht is result of many long years of work and refinement-"

"I'm not talking about the borscht," Reynard interrupted, waving his paws. "I mean your role as a supposed 'bodyguard' for Mr. Big. How fulfilled can you really be doing nothing?"

"I do _not_ do nothing!" he roared, slamming a fist onto the table. The result was Reynard's borscht flying up and splattering all over the bear's chest.

The fox winced. "Oooh, tough break. Looks like you could use a new suit."

Koslov barely even glanced at the stain. "I have others."

"So let me ask you something," Reynard said, clasping his paws together. "How often do you actually have to _protect_ him from anything?"

"What?"

"It seems to me that with Mr. Big's highly-secured compound and squad of polar bear enforcers, the chances of _you_ personally having to come to his aid are rather slim. Am I wrong?"

Koslov frowned, his expression wavering slightly. "...You are not."

"Then what exactly do you do? Because it kinda seems like your job is just to stand there and look menacing. When you're not ferrying Big around like some furry taxi service I mean. You must have to be pretty delicate to avoid hurting him, huh?"

"Yes."

"Hmm, I can't say you really strike me as a 'delicate' mammal," Reynard observed, reaching over to grab one of the bear's beefy arms and giving it a small squeeze. "I bet it's tough having to control your strength sometimes, to resist the urge to just clasp your paws a liiiiiiiitle bit tighter..."

"I am deeply loyal to Mr. Big," he scowled. "I would not dare hurt him."

"Really? My mistake then." Reynard shrugged and sat back in his seat, making no further comment as he looked idly at his phone.

The silence quickly grew unbearable. "Why do you think I would hurt him?" Koslov finally had to ask.

"I just thought you would find it unfair," he explained, still focused on his phone. "Unfair that a mammal so powerful should be rendered so powerless. Heck, I wouldn't be surprised if mammals even mistake _you_ for Mr. Big every now and then. Must sting having to correct them."

"I am content with my job," he snapped, somewhat defensively. What kind of nerve did this guy have to come into his establishment and question his life choices?

"Content? Interesting word choice." Reynard put the phone away, looking back at Koslov expectantly. "Not exactly the same as 'happy' or 'satisfied' is it?" Koslov remained silent. "Tell you what, how about I give you a little test? To see how much you _really_ like your job."

"How could you possibly prove such a thing?"

He casually lifted a finger and pointed at the empty borscht bowl left on the table. "Bring me two more of those."

Koslov blinked in confusion. That was the last thing he would have expected. "You want borscht _now?_ Two bowls at that?"

"No, no borscht. Just the bowls."

"...You want me to bring two empty bowls?"

He mimicked his accent. "Yes."

Koslov turned and looked up at the clock. 8: 56. "It won't take long, I promise," Reynard said from behind him. "Besides, isn't setting a good career goal worth all the time in the world?"

Begrudgingly, Koslov pushed himself up from the table and headed into the kitchen, returning with two empty bowls that he laid out in front of him. "Here."

Reynard grabbed the two bowls and turned them over onto the table, then withdrew a small coin seemingly from thin air, flipping it up and down on his thumb. With his other paw, he reached over and grabbed the remaining bowl. "Do you know how this game works?"

"I'd rather know why you're playing games in first place," he growled. "My patience runs short, fox."

"Don't worry, it's simple, just the way you like it." He flipped the coin up into the air one last time, then caught it in the bowl and slammed it down onto the table with the other two. "I shuffle the bowls around and then you tell me which one you think the coin is under. Savvy?"

"This is complete waste of my-"

"Good. Now keep an eye on the birdie…" Reynard's paws started moving a mile a minute, shuffling the bowls around at such a speed that normal mammalian eyes could hardly follow it. All the while, he kept staring at Koslov, that same, smarmy smile on his muzzle. "Now, now, don't look at me. You want the coin, right?"

Figuring he might as well play along, lest he got himself into this mess for nothing, Koslov did his best to keep track of the bowl the coin had been under. When Reynard finally stopped, he pointed over to the one on the left. "That one."

The fox lifted the bowl, revealing it to be empty. "Bzzt! Wrong! Care to try again?"

Koslov took a deep breath before nodding slowly. If this fox wanted to play games with him, then play he would. Play and win.

Reynard lifted the rightmost bowl to reveal the coin again, then started to shuffle them. Koslov trained his eyes on the bowl he wanted like it was injured prey and followed it back and forth. Smiling to himself, he chose again...and chose wrong. "What?!"

"Tough luck there, friend. But third time's the charm right?"

The third time didn't go any better. Or the fourth. Or the fifth.

"Yikes, hate to see that happen."

"He shoots, he misses."

"Ooh, that one's gotta sting."

"ENOUGH!" Koslov barely held himself back from hitting the table again, pointing sharply at the central bowl. "I _know_ that was coin! What are you trying to pull here?"

"Hey now, don't be a poor sport," Reynard smirked. "Just be glad you're not gambling over this."

Koslov looked back at the clock, realizing he was almost ten minutes late closing up. All because he had let himself get distracted by this stupid game. "Keep your lousy coin and get out!" He emphasized his point by sweeping a giant paw over all three bowls, sending them to the floor where they shattered to bits.

"Now why did you have to go and make a mess?"

"I'll clean it later. Now…" He glanced down at the pile of porcelain for just a second, but it was long enough to notice something. Or rather, a _lack_ of something. "Where is coin?"

"Hmm? What coin is that again? I have so many…"

Koslov reached over and grabbed Reynard by the front of his suit, easily lifting him into the air. He shook the fox up and down, dislodging a familiar coin from his sleeve. "You keep me here after hours just to _cheat me?!"_

"No, I kept you here to demonstrate something."

"Demonstrate _what_?"

Reynard smiled, gently patting the paws that could easily tear his head off. "Three things. First, when you are challenged in any capacity, you seek to prove yourself. Second, you greatly value your physical strength and the power it brings you."

"And what is third?" he asked, baffled by the fox's complete lack of fear.

"The third…" He shook his head pitifully. "Is that you have too much pride to let yourself be made a fool of, even here in this empty restaurant with no other witnesses. Which makes me wonder, why exactly do you continue to work for Mr. Big, defying all of these traits that make you _you?"_

"It is complicated." He roughly dropped the fox back into his seat. "You don't understand."

"Actually, I think I understand pretty well," Reynard replied, dusting himself off. "It's the only option you see open to you, it pays you well enough to make a living, it allows you some degree of satisfaction even if you're not completely fulfilled. Am I in the ballpark?"

"You're one to lecture me," he scoffed. "As I recall, last I saw you, you were groveling to Mr. Big for favor."

"That was then, this is now," Reynard replied, unfazed. "Complacency, Koslov, that has been my biggest mistake. But I am no longer willing to settle. I will fight for what I desire, no matter the cost." He leaned across the table, smiling up at the bear. "You've seen what this change has done for me, now what about you? Will you remain stuck in this borscht-filled hole you've dug for yourself, or are you ready to show this city what you can _really_ do?"

Koslov looked at him, closely. It was hard to deny how much his demeanor had changed. The fox that sat before him now exuded an unbreakable confidence, to such an extent that even he had been unable to put a chink in that armor. He thought he was happy now, but how much happier could be become? How much better of a mammal? "...What would I have to do?"

"Ah, _now_ you are asking the right questions," Reynard grinned. "I'm pleased to see you still have some fight in you after all. In exchange for your honesty, how about I let you in on a little secret?" He looked back and forth, despite knowing full well they were alone, and whispered over to him. "After tonight, let's just say Mr. Big is gonna get a whole lot smaller."

"What?" Koslov's eyes widened. "You mean to say you intend to-?"

"This is what taking action looks like, Koslov, and I don't have time to waste. You're not the first one of his bears I've talked to, you know. There's a number who would rather take orders from a mammal who at least reaches up to their knees."

Koslov struggled to keep his composure, breathing heavily. But did he react this way because he feared for his employer...or was it something else? "Who?"

"I'm not going to spoil the surprise _that_ much. What fun is that?" He laughed, getting up from his seat and gently pushing it in. "But you should be aware that a friend of mine is going to stop by the compound later, a friend with a very...particular set of skills. When he does, you're going to have a choice to make." He turned around and headed for the door, twirling his cane.

He couldn't lose this chance. "Wait! What choice?"

Reynard stopped in place, one paw hovering over the door. "That's the beauty of it. Either you do what you _think_ your job is, or exactly what Mr. Big has been having you do all this time. _Nothing."_

With one final smile and wave, he pushed himself through the front doors and disappeared, leaving Koslov alone. The bear looked up at the clock one final time. He was now almost a half-hour late for duty, even more by the time he got there. Somehow, he felt no need to rush.

After all, Koslov had always been a simple mammal with simple desires.

But maybe it was time that changed.

* * *

 _Another shoutout to DarkFlameWolf for being our beta once again._

 _For this first drabble, what could be more appropriate than how it all began? Reynard's phone call here is the same one Simon gets at the start of Chapter 1, and quite a bit more revealing on his end. It takes a special kind of confidence to arrange an assassination plot in the vicinity of the victim's head bodyguard before even bothering to recruit him._

 _Koslov was also fun to write, and in response to some comments wondering why he turned on Mr. Big, I hope we've provided a good answer. You may even get to see the critical moment in a future drabble…_

 _Not sure when the next one will come, so let us know how much you like this idea. And if there's certain characters or events you want more detail about, feel free to make requests as well. We only have a handful of these things actually planned after all. ;)_

 _(You know, I think we're breaking some kind of rule when a "drabble" is longer than the first actual chapter.)_


	2. In Dire Straights Part 1

_I said I would stop talking about gaps between updates, so I won't. Just...it's been a bit. XD_

 _But while I'm working on a certain project that is also not a very well-kept secret, it's about time you guys got some more BtBW content, even if not an actual update to the main story. Just a little something to whet your collective whistles again, starring two characters who have just recently become relevant again. (Well, "recently" in a certain manner of speaking, but again, not going into that.)_

* * *

 **Drabble 2: In Dire Straights Part 1**

 _Dire Family Residence_

 _8: 52 PM_

The Rainforest District was flooded with the largest full moon that the city had seen in years. It was so bright that even mammals not of the night could easily see. But in the backyard of a small trailer, at the foot of a freshly dug grave, one wolf's sight was blurred with tears.

Junior's masculinity forced him to struggle against the tears, but it was no use. He couldn't help but whimper and cry like a pup who had lost his mother. Which, in a sense, he was.

His older brother had clearly been working out his grief in different ways. The head of the shovel used to dig the grave was visibly dented from the force enacted on it while a nearby tree had a divot in its wood that looked suspiciously like a fist. Felix Senior had used a black-on-yellow road sign of a howling wolf to mark the grave, and while the brothers did not own a stake driver, the sign had been thrust almost halfway up its post into the hard dirt.

He opened his mouth, but struggled to speak. "Hi, Momma…uh…" What did you even _say_ to someone in a grave? It wasn't like he hadn't been to wolf funerals before. The Lang Family was uncontested in the Rainforest District, so they didn't lose mammals often, but it did happen. Junior loved his brothers and sisters, but this was different; this was his momma. The one who had rescued the Dire brothers from that house of horrors they had lived in for most of their puphood. The mother who had raised them like they were her own, giving them a massive new family.

Growling in frustration, he punched the ground. He winced, cradling bruised knuckles. Just then, a memory sparked in the back of his mind. The night he had first met Lady Lang, his paw had been injured.

Sighing through his nose, he gave up on speech for the moment, letting memories take his thoughts away.

* * *

 _Old Dire Residence_

 _9: 13 PM_

The force of the fist in his jaw carried the small wolf pup across the room, slamming into the wall and leaving a wolf-shaped divot in it.

Junior cowered down, holding his paws up to cover his face. The much larger wolf grabbed his right paw and bent it backwards, making him scream. His father's breath stank of alcohol. Ironically, he wore a wifebeater, though the little ten-year-old had never seen his mother hit. In fact, she beat her pups just as much as her husband did.

"Think you can do that to me, you little punk?" The father Dire hissed in his son's face. "Think you can embarrass me in front of my friends!?" He shook the pup violently by his arm and a slight crack could be heard as something broke.

"I'm sooooooorrrrrryyyyyy!" Junior wailed. "I didn't mean to spill it! I-I just thought you might want lemonade…" He had honestly been trying to make his father happy so that something like this might not happen tonight, but had slipped on a puddle of spilled vodka, spilling the drinks all over his father in the middle of a poker game. He knew no one was coming to help him. Everyone knew what his father did. They were still in the other room, laughing and talking.

Suddenly, the pressure was lifted from his arm as his father was knocked off of him. His older brother rubbed his own sore knuckles. Despite being only fourteen, Felix was only a foot or two shorter than their father. He was malnourished, but still quite bulky with muscle.

Felix was on his father before he could rise again. "Don't! Hurt! My! Brother!" Every word brought another fall of his fist. This had happened too many times and Felix had very obviously snapped. Junior had never seen him so angry. His eyes were narrowed, his lips drawn back to bare his fangs. His shoulders were tense as fist after fist slammed into their father's face.

"Felix Dire Senior! Stop that this instant!"

Junior's heart filled with dread as their mother yelled. For a brief moment, he had hoped that Felix could win this fight, but there was no way he could fight off both of them.

The skinny wolfette rushed across the room to pull her furious pup off his sire. Her ribs were clearly visible and Junior could practically see the drugs running through the veins on her bloodshot eyes. Felix cast a pleading look at Junior. ' _Run.'_

Junior ran. He went to the living room closet. It was small, but the door was sturdy and would keep them out until they decided he wasn't worth chasing. As he locked the door behind him, all he could do was whimper, cradling his broken paw and listening to the sounds of violence outside his small shelter.

"You little _bastard!_ Gonna disrespect me like that! I'll…!"

 _Knock knock knock!_

"Oh, for the love of…" There was the sound of the door being flung open, ending with the bang of the doorknob hitting the wall. "We don't want to buy any-! Oh! Uh...Lady Lang! What are you doing here?"

"Frederich. Ariana," a polite, feminine voice greeted. "I'm here to collect payment. You're well overdue."

"Eh, you know you can just call me Fred, right, Miss Lang? A-And you didn't have to come here personally to collect. I coulda sent the money over the phone."

"Oh no, my dear Frederich. You misunderstand. You see, I don't take kindly to being stolen from and a little birdy told me that _someone_ has been running a side operation on my territory. You've been stealing parts from the shops and selling them for your own gain. On top of that, you have been attempting to stir dissent against me in the pack. Frederich, you did not honestly believe that no word of this would reach my ears? You betrayed me, and the rest of the pack is very unhappy. I have to make an example of both of-" The voice stopped suddenly. "...I was not aware you had pups." Her tone seemed to be casual interest, but Junior could sense an undercurrent of something else. Something like his parents when they got really really mad.

"Y-yeah! We do!" Their mother spoke up quickly. "We just did it to make extra money for them!"

"Oh _really?"_ Lady Lang asked coldly. "And I suppose that the little one in the tattered clothes, bleeding on the floor, is prime evidence of this?"

"Him? Oh, he fell. Isn't that right, Felix?" Junior could picture his mother's forced grin at this. He trembled like a leaf about to fall from a tree, just trying as hard as he could to not let out a single noise.

There was a silence. It seemed like minutes to the terrified pup, but in reality, was just a few seconds.

"Is that true, Felix?" Lady Lang asked softly, gently. "I am your alpha. I can guarantee you that no harm will come to you."

There was a silence. Junior's heart was pounding in his chest. _The alpha is in our house!_ This was bad! This was really bad! In school, they said that in the old days, wolves would be punished for disrespecting someone higher up than them in the pack. If she found out that they had disrespected their parents, who knew what she would do?

 _ **Bang! Bang!**_ _Thud. Thud._ Felix screamed.

Junior tensed. His breathing became shaky. Even one so young knew the sound of a gunshot. She...she must have shot Felix…

"Are you alright, little one? What's your name?" Lady Lang asked.

Junior's breath caught in his throat. She knew he was here. She must have smelled him. He tried to move, but his muscles were locked in terror. He couldn't move.

"I...you...shot them…"

Junior's heart skipped a beat. That was Felix! He was alive!

Slowly, he opened the door, just a crack. A small amount of light came into the dark closet.

Lady Lang stood over Felix, who looked up at her with what seemed like speechless awe. He could not see his parents. The older wolf wore a dark gray business suit with a periwinkle shirt, moon-shaped earrings, and high heels.

"Yes, I did. I had to. Scum such as them have no place in the pack."

Someone out of Junior's view coughed awkwardly. "Uh...we're just gonna…"

"You stood by and watched as our pups, the future of our pack, were tortured and abused." Lady Lang said with an almost unnatural calm, not even looking back at their father's poker buddies. Without turning, she lifted her gun and fired four more shots before it clicked on empty.

A voice trembled and stuttered, trying to find speech. "Ou-wha-huh-I...I'm alive! You're out of ammo!"

Lady Lang strolled calmly out of Junior's view. _**Crack!**_

Junior saw his brother wince and knew that the final wolf had just met a very nasty end.

Lady Lang stepped over to the still prone Felix, whose instincts finally made him scramble back until he hit the wall.

"Shhh, darling… it's okay." Junior watched as the pack mother knelt in front of Felix. Her voice was soft, like before, but… a different kind of soft. Junior didn't realize that he was leaning forward curiously...until the old closet door let out a loud _creeeeeeeak!_

Lady Lang's ears pricked. She whipped around towards the noise. Junior yelped in surprise, scrambling back into the darkness of the closet. He heard her footsteps drawing near to his hiding place. The door creaked open again as the female wolf knelt down in front of him. He could see that she was quite pretty, with steely blue eyes and light white fur. She had a comforting smile on her face. "Come now, little one. Don't be afraid." She reached out a paw to him, causing him to flinch away, covering his face with his paws.

"I-I think it's okay, Junior!" Felix called out. "I think she's safe."

Lady Lang did not speak. She simply sat there with that same smile, waiting patiently for Junior to come forward. Slowly, but surely, he did. He took her paw, and she gently helped him to his feet. She did not, however, bring him out of his hiding place. "Wait just a moment. It's…a bit of a mess out there. A pup should not have to see something like this." Her face morphed into a sad frown as she looked over towards Felix, who did not make an audible reply, just moving to brush past her and hug Junior. He gently scratched between his brother's ears in an attempt to calm his fear. "You aren't quite reacting the way most would," Lady Lang remarked.

He shrugged. "I can't say I'm sad," he replied simply. "Plus, you saved us. Why would I be afraid?"

Lang paused. "Just…normally someone so young would have a stronger reaction to…well…"

He gave her a flat look, still cradling Junior's head and guarding his gaze. "I've seen worse around them."

Normally, Junior would have objected to being held like this, but…he really _didn't_ want to see what was out there.

She tapped a few times on her phone, then put it to her ear. "Morty? I'm going to have to order dinner for seven. With takeout for three." Junior's ears pricked. Was she ordering from Burger alpha? He wasn't very hungry and he didn't think now was the best time anyway. A weird memory stirred in his head, some wolf yelling something in the street before he got arrested. What was it? "Burger alpha is mammals?" Junior couldn't remember exactly what it was. He shook his head, clearing the odd thought.

Lady Lang sat with them in the closet while they waited. No one really said anything for a little while, until she broke the silence. "So…what is your real name, Junior?"

Junior flinched. "Um…Felix…"

Lang nodded, turning to Felix for an answer.

"He wasn't talking to me," Felix deadpanned. "We're both Felix. He's Felix Junior."

The alpha wolf had been stunned before. Now she just seemed like she was at a loss for words. "But…why?"

Felix shrugged. "Ask them." He jerked his head out towards the living room.

"You're a rather dark pup, aren't you?"

Felix shrugged.

"And you shrug a lot."

Felix shrugged.

"Feelie's bad at talking to girls," Junior murmured quietly.

Felix cast him a disapproving look. "Hush, you." He noogied Junior a bit, causing him to squirm and give a tiny smile.

Lady Lang grinned. "Feelie, huh?"

Felix rolled his eyes. "You hush too."

Junior gasped. "Feelie! Be nice to the alpha!"

To his surprise, Lady Lang burst into a loud, cackling laugh. "I think I like you, Felix."

"Which one?" they asked.

"Both of you."

* * *

 _9: 36 PM_

After a little while, Junior heard a car pull up outside. "One moment," said Lady Lang, rising to her feet. "I'll be right back."

She closed the door behind her as she left. Junior whimpered a bit as the closet went dark.

"Good evening, Morty."

"Evenin' Miss La- Aww heck! What the-!?" A male voice stammered and swore outside.

"Hush. There are two pups in the closet."

"What _happened_ here?! Dinner for _seven?!_ Do you have _any_ idea how hard this is gonna be to serve?!"

"I have some idea. Recall that I did your job before you."

"Shit, what the hell did they _do!?"_

"Child abuse."

"Ah, shit…"

"My sentiments exactly. Now get to work. And my takeout?"

"Sitting outside. Here's the keys and the cover."

"Cover?" Felix whispered, seemingly to himself.

After a few minutes, Lady Lang opened the door. Her suit, shoes, and earrings had vanished. She now wore an indigo shirt under a black vest, with blue denim jeans. On her chest was a gold badge. "You're a cop?" Felix asked incredulously.

Lady Lang winked. "Nope. But no one else has to know that. Come on, our ride is outside."

They followed her outside. Surprisingly, there was no one there. Their parents and the poker buddies had vanished, leaving nary a trace. Junior really didn't want to think about what had happened to them. He was just glad to be alive.

Outside their trailer was a black and white motorcycle with two sidecars. "Hop on in, little ones." Lady Lang offered.

* * *

 _9: 40 PM_

The trio sped down the dirt back roads of the understory. It was after dark and the light of the full moon filtered gently through the trees around them. Felix snoozed fitfully in one of the sidecars, seemingly unable to keep his eyes open after the stress of the evening. Junior sat on his knees in the other one, hanging his head over the side and letting his tongue flap in the wind.

Lady Lang stifled a laugh as she tried to keep her eyes on the road. "Careful, Junior. Don't want to bump your head on something."

"Awwwww…" Disappointed, Junior plopped back onto his rear, giving a childish pout.

"Be nice to Miss Lang, Junior." Felix muttered, despite never having opened his eyes. Junior responded by sticking his tongue out at him now.

Felix finally looked at Lady Lang. "So what happens to us now? Our parents are... gone, and we don't exactly have anywhere else to go. Where are we going to stay?"

"With me, of course," Lady Lang answered with zero hesitation. "I consider all members of the pack my children. That includes both of you two. I have a couple of spare rooms at my home. You can have them."

"You've been a better momma in the past hour than they ever were!" Junior piped up to assure her. His tail was wagging a million miles an hour. Not only were they escaping their bad parents, they were being taken in by the alpha herself! This was the absolute best thing that could happen in his life!

Felix gave her an odd look. He didn't look as trusting as Junior was, but his shoulders sagged and his muzzle dipped submissively. "Yes, ma'am."

Lady Lang ruffled his headfur with one paw, somehow managing to steer the motorcycle with only the other one; a feat Junior found AWESOME! "Don't worry, Felix. I understand if you don't trust me fully at first. You didn't have a choice but to trust me when I came in, and I can understand being cautious after what you've been through. But I promise that I will do my best to be _far_ better a parent than them."

Felix hesitated, but gave a satisfied nod. It wasn't like things could get any worse, after all. Junior knew his brother wouldn't let anything bad happen to them.

The trio sped down the moonlit road as the city lights began to blink out.

* * *

 _The Suckier Present_

 _8: 53 PM_

Junior slowly came back to the present, finding himself on his knees, forehead pressed into the dirt. His crying had long since stopped. He simply had no more tears in him to cry.

He slowly pushed himself to his feet, his numb legs creaking in protest. He didn't really feel anything anymore. He felt… tired. He felt helpless. It was hard knowing his brother was once again in the line of fire while he was crouched in the backyard, sobbing like it was the end of the world. It might as well have been. He had no idea what to do next.

…

Scratch that. He had a pretty good idea on what to do next.

Junior shambled slowly back inside, stopping at the fridge to pull out an old bottle of wine. He had bought it for his momma, intending to give it to her as a birthday present. She collected old wine and this was a pretty rare one, supposedly quite valuable.

Hopefully, that meant it was also really good for getting piss stinkin' drunk.

* * *

 _ **Good evening, everyone!**_

 _ **HAHA! YOU THOUGHT IT WAS BERSERKER88 WRITING THIS, BUT IT WAS ME! DIO! I MEAN MIND JACK!**_

 _ **Bah. Curses. My lovely surprise author's note, ruined by anime yet again.**_

 _ **Anyway, yuppers. I finally wrote an actual chapter! I had a reason for vanishing this time! (As for why this took so long… *Cough* Laziness *Cough* Also writing other stuff too.)**_

 _ **This is the first of two Drabbles featuring the Dire Bros. I don't know if that's the Drabble that will be appearing next. Gotta talk that over with Berky first.**_ _(Berky: It's not.)_

 _ **Alrighty. I think that's all I've got to say. So, for now, (It feels so good saying this again.)**_

 _ **Until we meet again…**_

 _ **Mind Jack, OUT!**_


	3. Girl's Fight Out

_In the spirit of keeping these drabbles related to whatever's going on in the main fic, here's one about Carla and Priscilla! (Carlilla? Priscarla? Whatever the shippers come up with.)_

 _Warning: Disproportionate amounts of fluff in this drabble, especially compared to that last one. As someone who doesn't write much of it, it may be a little jarring._

* * *

 **Drabble 3: Girl's Fight Out**

 _The Docks_

 _Boardwalk_

 _A Happier Time_

"I can't believe your familia kicked us out."

"I can't believe we're on a _date."_

It had been twenty years since the Rodentriguez family took in its largest guest and her impact was hard to ignore, quite literally. Elizabeth already had a large house by rodent standards, but having Carla around meant upgrading to what would equate to a Beaverly Hills style mansion, then tearing down a few walls and raising the ceiling just to make a single bedroom. As their kind required much less than most mammals, it wasn't too unreasonable of a purchase, though it did necessitate bringing in a little extra dough.

That was where Lucha Libre came in. Carla was the first to become a wrestler, her aggressive and domineering instincts perfectly suited to the profession. It was her way of giving back to the family that had raised her, many of whom came to watch her fight (and win) day after day. They were nothing but supportive of her new calling, which they kind of had to be since there was no way they could ever do the same.

It was no wonder then that she and Priscilla got along so well. For the many, many, _many_ awkward days Carla spent struggling not to step on her siblings, let alone relate to them, Priscilla was the only one who showed no fear in approaching her. Even most mammals her own size found Carla a bit intimidating, and that was _before_ she started cracking skulls for a living, yet here was this girl roughly the size of her foot not caring in the slightest. Priscilla Rodentriguez could talk to a rhino as easily as a rat and refused to take shit from either. They were like an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object and somehow the result was kinship. But _romance?_ That was out of the question, right? Different species, different weight class, same sex, talk about a trifecta of abnormality.

The rest of the family sure didn't seem to mind, seeing as how the two of them were basically forced out of the house and told to "get to know each other". Well, there was nothing normal about this situation anyway, so might as well give it a shot, if only because refusal felt uncomfrotably like admitting defeat. "Where are we going?" Priscilla asked, dressed in a casual white t-shirt and jeans while sitting in what was more or less a booster seat. Carla owned an SUV, or rather Elizabeth did, on the condition that it be able to fit literally the entire family to go on field trips.

"Some boardwalk down in the Docks," Carla answered, steering the vehicle with one paw and resting her legs on the dashboard. She had on a dark blue tank top and black pants, also casual. "Just opened up apparently."

"That sounds nice," the rat said shortly. Neither wanted to admit how awkward this night had become already.

"Si, should be fun."

"I think so too."

"Indeed."

"Absolutely."

"No doubt."

They couldn't hold it back anymore, looking to each other almost in unison. "Carla, do you really think we might…?"

"...actually start dating?"

They both burst out laughing. _"As if!"_

They pulled into their stop soon after and left the car, Priscilla jumping and rolling to the ground instead of using the installed ramp. Carla quickly scooped her up and placed the rat on her shoulder. "Hey, I can walk just fine on my own!"

"It's gonna be busy. If something happens to you, your madre will kill me."

She scoffed. "Please. Anyone gets too close and I'll kill _them_ first."

"No, _I'll_ kill them before you even get the chance."

"Then if nobody ends up dead, we'll call this night a success. Deal?"

"Deal."

It would be a more difficult goal than either of them expected.

The boardwalk itself was nothing impressive, just a low-budget, barely-put-together mishmash of fabric and machinery, all situated on wood that should have given way years ago. But hey, it would do for a night's entertainment.

"Where do we even start?" Priscilla asked, even a rat disgusted by the atmosphere.

"Hard to pick. There's just so many _great_ choices." Carla looked slowly back and forth, trying to see through the thick crowds. "They've got some games over there. Want me to win you a prize?" That was a thing you did on a date, right?

Priscilla smirked knowingly. "Sure. If you think you can _manage it."_

Carla was only half-interested before, but now she was making a beeline towards the nearest stand, a typical carnival game about throwing bottles at stacks of balls. Wait…

"Ah, customers!" greeted a seal in a striped shirt, another ball balanced perfectly on his nose. "Step right up and test your skill!"

Carla slammed down a few coins. The desire to win a tacky prize for her date filled her with determination. "Bring it on."

A row of bottles were set in front of her. The hyena deftly lifted one and wound her arm back, closing one eye as she steadied her aim. Priscilla leaned in, her own beady eyes watching closely.

Carla's arm whipped forward and the bottle went flying...just glancing the top of the first stack and shattering against the wall. "Ooooooh, so close!" the seal said, putting on the usual fake sympathy of a professional.

Carla glared at the stack of balls as if it had personally affronted her. Another bottle was thrown, this one missing entirely. "This game is rigged," she huffed.

"You just need a little more focus," Priscilla offered, hopping down onto Carla's arm. "Take a deep breath and follow my lead." She slowly moved the arm up and into position, aiming carefully. "Okay, toss now."

Carla nodded, moving her arm straight back and throwing the bottle. A direct hit! The first stack exploded in front of them. "Ha! No one has enough balls to stop us!"

Priscilla was already adjusting for the second stack. "30 degrees right, 50 degrees up, and...fire!" Just like that, another stack was destroyed. Only one remained.

"Better pick out your prize." Carla grinned, eyes narrowed on the final stack.

"Annnnnd...fire!" Once more, it was a direct hit...but this time the balls did not fall. Only the bottle was broken. "Negativo. Didn't go in. Just impacted on the surface."

"Must've been a dud." Carla frowned. There was only one bottle left now.

"Then let's make this one count. Fire!" Carla threw again, even harder this time. The bottle knocked a single ball loose, but the rest of the stack didn't budge.

"Too bad!" the seal proclaimed, shaking his head, and his personal ball with it. "Better luck next time."

Priscilla glared at him accusingly. "Nothing takes two wallops from us and stays standing. This _is_ rigged!"

"No one likes a sore loser," he replied, a bit too smugly for her taste.

Carla glanced down at the seething rodent and decided it was time to return her favor. "Oh, we haven't lost yet. We still have one more to toss."

He scanned the counter, confused. "Hmm? Where?"

"Right here!" Carla reached for the ball atop the seal's head, grabbed the whole seal instead, then hurled him into the last stack. Whatever he had used to keep the balls stuck, he just as effectively got them _un_ stuck. The impact brought down not only the stack, but the entire stand, leaving only the counter intact. "How's _that_ for focus?"

"Your aim has improved," she said wryly. "Do I still get a prize?"

She chuckled, gesturing to the pile of junk left behind. "Take your pick."

"Yay!" Priscilla leapt gleefully into said junk.

Her choice of prize was unusual, yet somehow appropriate. Carla now found herself walking back through the crowd with a rat in a capitan's hat standing on her nose. "Hard to starboard! Bring us around! Now drop anchor!"

She stopped in place. "Priscilla, we're just two friends hanging out at a boardwalk, we are _not_ a ship."

Even for a children's size hat, it was still a little big on her. "You're just jealous because you don't have a prize yet. Let's see if we can change that." She pantomimed pulling out a telescope and looking through it as she searched the area. "There! Land ho!"

"Come one, come all! Test your strength against Grizz the Wizz!" A bear in a cheap mockery of a wrestling uniform had set up an equally cheap ring in the middle of the boardwalk. A nearby sign announced a $500 prize for anyone who could defeat him, not that the sign was really needed when he wouldn't shut up about it.

Carla snickered at the sight. "I think we were kicked out of New Mexicow to get _away_ from Lucha Libre."

"It's not Lucha Libre," she insisted, pointing to the bear's chubby face. "No mask."

Carla couldn't help an amused smirk at her partner ( _wrestling_ partner). "You really want me to tango with that pendejo?"

"No, I said it's _my_ turn to win a prize now. Be right back!" Without waiting for the inevitable protest, Priscilla hopped off of Carla's snout, jumping from head to head to reach the ring.

Carla sighed, slapping a paw to her forehead. So much for keeping Elizabeth's daughter out of trouble. Even so, she very much doubted she was _in_ trouble either.

Oblivious to the coming storm, Grizz continued shouting. "Come on, isn't anyone mammal enough to take me on?!"

"I will!" Priscilla entered the ring, still wearing the hat.

Grizz took one look at her and scowled. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"That's more my partner's area, but I can try. You hear the one about the bear who walked out of this ring with all of his bones intact?" She cracked her tiny knuckles. " _Me neither."_

The next minute or so was filled with screams of agony and unsettling cracking noises. The gathered crowd watched this unfold, horrified, except for a hyena with a small smile on her lips.

"H-Here you go," stammered the bear's manager, an overweight walrus, handing (flippering?) a small envelope to the even smaller champion. "Please don't come again."

"Gracias." Priscilla curtsied, leaving the crumpled mat of fur in the ring as she headed back to Carla. It was a longer trip the second time since her previous stepping stones had now cleared the path. "Here, buy yourself something nice."

Carla took the prize reluctantly. "How am I supposed to top 500 bucks?"

Priscilla adjusted her new hat, which now looked significantly less impressive. "Sorry, guess I can't help but turn everything into a competition."

Carla glanced around, smiling slyly as a solution appeared before her. "Then let's get competitive." She jabbed a thumb over at the bumper cars.

They exchanged wicked grins, then quickly rushed over. The line that had been stationed there mysteriously dispersed as soon as they came near, leaving a nervous otter in glasses who was legally obligated to stay. "I'm s-sorry, but you must b-be this tall to r-ride." He pointed a shaky claw at a nearby sign, depicting a narwhal's horn marked like a measuring stick.

Priscilla said nothing, just pointed back at the bear still struggling to stand again. "I think I can handle it."

"Right you are!" He smiled forcefully. "Come on in!"

Carla picked a red car for the two of them, sticking Priscilla into the front of her shirt. The other participants already seated soon wished they weren't. As soon as the signal to start went off, Carla slammed the gas and charged straight at the nearest target, a young rabbit who would never come here again.

"FOR MY FAMILIA!"

"FOR APPEASING PRISCILLA'S FAMILIA!"

The rabbit was slammed back into the wall and properly traumatized. "About face! Charge!" Priscilla commanded. The car whirled around and sped at the rest of tonight's victims. The first was a fox who was knocked backwards into a deer, who then ricocheted off the wall into a cougar, who was sent spinning back towards Carla just as she charged into him, literally ramming him through the guardrail, out of the rink, and over the side of the dock.

A clever beaver attempted to sneak up on them from behind, but it was him that was surprised when Priscilla leapt at his face. Spinning out of control, he ended up taking out a few more cars before crashing himself. Carla finished up with a ram she was repeatedly battering into the wall, then swooped by to pick her up again. Knowing they were next, the remaining drivers mustered their courage and came at them all at once.

The screams of the slaughter would echo across the boardwalk for decades, but aside from that there was no prize to be won, so they soon called it quits. Carla climbed out of their burnt and twisted wreckage of a car, still carrying Priscilla. "Ayyyy, that was fun! What should we do next?"

Quite a few things actually.

They got on a rollercoaster, after once again coercing the worker to let Priscilla aboard. His concern was justified, since the first thing she did was tie a string around her waist and jump out the back, using a paper bag to stay afloat while Carla held her like a kite. It was a pretty good time up until Priscilla had to hurl.

They watched a pair of fire dancers perform in front of a crowd. Unimpressed, Carla caught a baton mid-drop and proceeded to put it out in her paw pads. Not one to be outdone, Priscilla then attempted to put it out in her _mouth._ To be fair, it was still more impressive fire blowing than the dancers could pull off, but she would never eat hot peppers again. Their challenge level had been surpassed.

They entered a haunted house, both trying to act tough, but secretly scared out of their wits. This resulted in them both being even more on-edge than usual, and in the midst of teasing each other to cover up their own fear, one of the hired paws dressed as a monster made the mistake of jumping out at them. This triggered a fight or flight response, and since neither was about to run away, they decked the monster and tore the place apart in the midst of beating down the rest.

Priscilla was starting to notice a pattern. "...Maybe we should just try the ferris wheel next."

Carla looked back over her shoulder. There were several injured mammals and busted attractions left in their wake, even a small fire or two. "Yeah...that might be a good idea." It was as if the entire boardwalk breathed a collective sigh of relief.

The ferris wheel didn't go too high, ruining any thrill they might have gotten out of it. This left them no choice really but to sit back and relax.

"Wow, what a night." Carla sighed, leaning back in the cramped gondola as it slowly, very slowly, carried them around.

Priscilla simply leaned on Carla. "I know, right? What a riot! Almost literally."

"Can't have everything." She shrugged. "Speaking of, any idea what Elizabeth was expecting from this?"

"Probably a ravenous make-out session at least."

"Shame to disappoint her."

The rat flipped herself over. "Oh? What do you mean by that?"

"J-Just that it's not going to happen is all," Carla said quickly. "I mean, come on, I'd probably eat you by accident if we tried something like that."

Deciding to have some fun with this, Priscilla wiggled her eyebrows. "Or you can eat me on purpose…"

Carla gasped. "What kind of sick fantasies are you in to?!"

"No, I didn't mean...it's just an innuendo."

"A what?"

"Nevermind." Guess that was one style of comedy Carla would never grasp. "But you're right, there's no way we could ever do anything like that. Can you even imagine trying to snuggle? I'd get lost!"

"And how would we have romantic dinners together? Just put a giant slab of meat next to some cheese?" Carla cackled back.

"Seriously! And let's not even get into that whole 'dominance' thing! We both know who'd come out on top there!"

"Ha! Yeah, that's a no-brainer!"

They both shouted in unison. "Me!"

A few seconds passed as both parties realized this conversation had just gone to a very dark place from which there was no return.

Priscilla slowly narrowed her eyes. " _Excuse_ me?"

Carla leaned towards her. "I meant what I said. Female hyenas are practically _bred_ for dominance!"

"Only because all of your males are complete debiluchos! Have you _seen_ how many siblings I have to deal with on a daily basis?"

"Big deal! All I have to do is threaten to step on someone and they fall in line!"

"Well you won't be stepping on _me!_ Ever!"

"Is that a challenge?!"

"Only if you're tough enough to accept it!"

"GAME ON!"

Priscilla shouted a war cry and launched herself at the hyena. Carla flew back and hit the wall of the gondola, making the whole thing sway violently. Completely disregarding this, she quickly grabbed the rat with both paws and slammed her into the floor. "Still think I can't be on top?!"

"Only on top of the dirt!" Priscilla managed to wrap her small arms around one of Carla's fingers and punched her straight in the knuckle joint. The sharp pain made her hiss and loosen up just enough for the rat to slip out.

By the time Carla regained her focus, she was no longer anywhere in sight. "Wha...okay, Priscilla, there's nowhere to hide! Just come on out!"

"No problemo!" In this brief time, Priscilla had climbed all the way to the ceiling of the gondola, hanging by the beleaguered supports. And now she was plummeting straight down, landing an elbow strike to the back of Carla's neck. Already thrown off-balance, the hyena fell to the floor, allowing Priscilla to grab her ankle and twist it up over her back. " _Rendición!"_

Carla hissed, claws scratching the hard ground, but refused to submit. "Never! You think (agh) I can't (ack) take this?!"

"Oh, I know you can." A devious smile crossed her lips as she wrapped her legs around Carla's ankle, conveniently freeing up her arms. "But can you take _this?"_ Her tiny claws set to work, raking up and down the sole of Carla's foot.

Her eyes widened. "GAH! NOT FAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAIR!" She thrashed around, trying in vain to shake the rat off.

Priscilla maintained a death grip, continuing the assault. "All's fair in love and war, and we already established this ain't love!"

Laughing hysterically, even for a hyena, Carla rolled around back and forth into each side of the gondola with extreme force. This completely failed to dislodge Priscilla, but _did_ dislodge the support beam. Laughs turned to screams as they both plummeted off of the ferris wheel and towards the boardwalk below.

*CRASH*

The impact left a gigantic crater in the boardwalk, which the other patrons gathered around to mourn and take pictures.

There was another great splash as Carla popped back up from under the water, Priscilla riding atop her head. The rodent smiled weakly. "I think this means I win."

They didn't get to argue about it further only because the angry voices above drowned them out. This would have been a terrible tragedy had they died, but because they both survived, with barely a scratch at that, everyone else was just pissed. Objects were thrown and obscenities shouted at the two mammals who had left a path of destruction through this land of fun.

"I think we probably shouldn't come back here," Carla said, swatting away a large fry.

Priscilla caught a soda can, then threw it back to protect the environment. "Agreed."

The grey head of a porpoise suddenly emerged from the sea between them. It was no chance encounter, as he stared coldly at the two of them and said, "The Codfather is always watching."

Even they knew better than to stick around after something like that. A few minutes of frantic swimming later, they both crawled out onto shore, panting. "No make-out session...but at least we both got wet," Priscilla noted.

"Huh?"

"Right, definitely gotta avoid innuendoes with you." Priscilla stretched out into the sand, trying to relax, yet again. "We should probably call it here, huh?"

"Probably." Carla flopped down next to her. "But seriously, what _are_ we going to tell Elizabeth?"

"We can tell her our first date was a success."

Her head shot back up. "Was it?"

"Well, the point of a date is to bond and get more comfortable around each other, right? We _do_ have a lot in common. Like being tough, and fun, and brave…"

"...and a total menace to society?"

"Now you're getting it!" she cheered. "And I'm _pretty sure_ no one died either, so I'd say this was a perfect ten on the dating scale. And I'll fight anyone who says otherwise!"

"Huh. I guess you're right…" The idea of dating her best friend was still something Carla would have to get used to, but she was certainly up to the task. "Then you wanna do this again sometime?"

"As long as it's not here, sure."

"Excellente." Carla finally stood back up and dusted the sand off of herself. "Then do you think someday, the two of us…"

"...might be married?"

They both burst out laughing. _"As if!"_

* * *

 _And now you know why we don't write fluff. It inevitably turns to chaos._

 _After all this alluding to what Carla Hyenandez used to be like back in the good ol' days, now you finally get to see it. Less angry, more funny, just as destructive. Also probably the closest we're ever going to come to crossing the border into M territory here, at least in terms of sexual content. Good thing Carla doesn't get innuendos, huh?_

 _No, there was absolutely no foreshadowing towards a certain narwhal and his organization here. What are you talking about?_


	4. Operation Snake Beater

_With Simon lying unconscious on a warm, grated floor, what better time is there to go into his backstory? This drabble takes place during the fabled "Cold-Blooded War," which we have treated very casually so far despite it confirming the existence of both sentient reptiles and a major armed conflict in Zootopian history. To be fair, casually dropped bombshells are the most fun._

 _And speaking of bombshells, let's genre shift and turn this into a war story! Don't expect much of a tone shift though. It's still us._

* * *

 **Drabble 4: Operation Snake Beater**

 _Giraffrican Jungle_

 _Outer Heatin'_

 _2300 Hours_

War.

War never changes.

But it sometimes got very silly.

Elite Delta Fox mercenary Simon Charles Maskovich was leaning against the side of a plane's hold, impatiently drumming his claws against the metal surface. After a while, even the high altitude and the enormity of the mission that awaited him faded into a dull hum. Right now, he was just impatient to get the show on the road.

He came fully prepared, of course, suited up in a full uniform of brown/green camo gear, a small, concealed handgun, a less concealed assault rifle, a combat knife, several grenades, emergency medical supplies, and a cute little beret. It was Karen VanDal, his commanding officer, who suggested that last one, saying it gave him more "character." He was going to need all of that he could get once he touched down.

Simon never thought the Cold-Blooded War would take him so far from his homeland of Zootopia, but the Scalies were playing increasingly dirty in their efforts to take that homeland from him. Their own home, the Sauriet Union, was a bitterly cold piece of rock in a state of perpetual winter, which posed a bit of a problem for a class of animals who were vulnerable to low temperatures. To circumvent this, the city was powered by what they referred to as an artificial sun, and what the rest of the world more accurately called a giant heat lamp. It provided all the warmth the city would ever need, but they weren't satisfied with that, seeking to expand their territory into warmer lands so as not to be imprisoned by their own climate.

It was to that end that Sauriet military footholds began popping up all over the place, some more dangerous than others. One of the most pressing was a large fortress established in the middle of Giraffrica by serpentine commander Big Boa. It was known as Outer Heatin', where soldiers would always have a place to be warm and toasty. Rumor had it that Big Boa was working on some kind of secret weapon, but their last agent sent in, one White Fox, had been captured before she could tell them much of anything. So now it was up to Simon to swoop in, rescue White Fox, and stop whatever the hell the Scalies were up to all by himself.

Sometimes, this job was just too easy.

His earpiece crackled, the piercing sound making him wince. It was a firm reminder that he _wasn't_ going to be by himself as Karen's voice came through. " _Ready to roll, agent? As usual, we'll need to establish code names before entering enemy territory. For this mission, you will refer to me as 'Major Pain.'"_

He smirked. "I think I can manage that."

" _Don't laugh too hard now._ Your _name will be 'Hot Fuzz'."_

His smirk vanished. "That's a rather...suggestive code name."

" _Don't flatter yourself, Hot Fuzz. Now you better get ready. You've almost reached the drop point."_

He tried his best to ignore it. "I've _been_ ready. The only intel I've gathered so far is the number of bolts on the inside of this hold."

" _I just hope you can-"_

"714."

" _I just hope you can put those observational skills to better use down there, because here comes the drop now."_

Simon was already putting his helmet and parachute on. It was all he could do to keep from flinging himself out of the plane prematurely. At the pilot's signal, the raccoon opened the doors, letting in a sudden rush of warm wind. Taking a deep breath, because even with his experience there was nothing fun about a TAILO jump, Simon spread his arms and leapt out of the hanger, falling through the back of the plane towards the dense jungle below.

The wind whipped against Simon's face as he plummeted downwards. The fall itself wasn't that scary anymore, though there was always the slim chance that his parachute would fail to trigger and end his mission before it even started. That was the only fear he had, if only because he knew Karen would never shut up about it at his funeral. He did _not_ want to be remembered as the jackass who became a splat in the middle of the jungle.

Reasonable odds were with him though, and after disentangling himself from a tree or two, Simon's feet touched down on the grassy landing with no further issues. After getting his bearings and making sure the coast was clear, he called Karen before she could beat him to it. "I'm in."

" _Nice landing, Hot Fuzz. Might want to take a second and make sure you didn't get a splinter anywhere...unpleasant."_

"I'm fine," he grunted. "Guess you would know what having a stick up your ass is like."

" _Shut up. Now then, you should be about two miles from the main base of Outer Heatin'. You've got a bit of a walk ahead of you, so I would get moving unless you want the Scalies putting a bullet through your thick skull."_

"Delicately worded, as always." She was right though; he had a job to do. He couldn't afford to lollygag.

Simon pressed himself up against the nearest tree and peered around it cautiously, waiting a few seconds before he started to move. He remained low to the ground, doing his best to blend in with the surroundings despite his contrasting fur color. He also made sure he was adequately covering his tracks. Raccoon footprints were fairly distinct, and he would never be so foolish as to leave one out in the open. His senses heightened to the max, he remained focused and ready to react if anything was even remotely out of place.

It was with those senses that he noticed the tripwire. Barely visible in the jungle heat, it was only Simon's keen eyesight that picked it out in time to safely step over it. He paused, half-expecting a land mine on the other side, but when he remained in one piece, he continued onward. _Sloppy. I'm too close to the base for such a pathetic trap. What are they up to?_

He asked Karen just that. "Major Pain, I'm not getting much resistance, and that itself is pretty suspect. What's going on here?"

" _Maybe they just didn't expect such a brave, handsome warrior of death to come dropping in."_

"Bullshit. They already caught an intruder. Shouldn't that warrant a bit tighter security?"

" _Well, between you and me, White Fox is not what I would call an impressive show of force. They'd be better off replacing her with a robot."_

"Harsh. I'll have to tell her sister you said that."

" _Don't you dare."_

"Hold that thought." Simon leapt onto a nearby tree as the ground suddenly gave away, revealing a concealed pit trap with sharpened stakes lining the bottom, then jumped to the other side. "You were saying?"

" _I'm detecting an enemy campsite ahead."_

"That's what I thought."

It almost came as a relief when Simon finally saw enemy guards. Two appropriately-named monitor lizards were keeping watch over a small campsite, consisting only of a few tents, a stack of ration crates, and a bulky truck. They were dressed in dark red uniforms that clashed in an amusing fashion with their green scales, forked tongues sliding in and out of their mouths and scenting the air. Simon crouched behind the bushes, slowly positioning himself downwind.

"Hmm?" one of the slimy creatures spoke, his Sauriet accent thick and raspy. "Thought I smelled something."

"I don't smell anything," the other replied. "Other than your breath, that is."

It was a good thing Simon was well-versed enough in their language to mentally translate, even if the bored chatter of stooges was rarely worth the effort.

"Must have been my imagination," the first guard said. "I do feel a little asleep."

"I feel asleep too. I need rested."

His translations weren't always perfect either. Simon waited patiently to survey the campsite, making sure that these two lizards were the only ones on duty before he made a move.

"I can't believe Big Boa called everyone else back. Now it's just the two of us."

 _Maybe guard chatter_ can _be useful._ He casually raised his rifle, poked it through the bushes, and sniped both of them in the space of a second.

Then he called Karen. "I've cleared out the enemy campsite. Two hostiles standing guard, both neutralized."

" _Two whole hostiles?! Congrats, champ! Anything useful?"_

"Just a bunch of tents and supplies, and a big truck. I'll go check it out."

" _You do that."_

Simon stepped over the corpses of the two lazy lizards and took a look around. Digging through the leftovers like any true raccoon, he found plenty of food rations, some ammo, the latest volume of _PlayBoa,_ and a couple medkits, but nothing that screamed "key item." Finally, he climbed into the back of the truck, almost out of desperation at this point. This whole excursion was starting to feel like a waste of time and he needed to get _something_ of value out of it.

The truck's back door slammed shut behind him.

 _Not exactly what I meant, but at least it's something different._

He tried to lift the door open again, but it remained firmly shut, a hard clicking sound confirming that this was no accident. Someone had locked him in.

"Major Pain, we might have a problem here."

" _Let me guess: you got locked inside the truck?"_

He frowned. "How did you know?"

" _I kinda saw it coming as soon as you brought it up. Think it's a trap, or just unfortunate timing?"_

"Considering I left two dead lizards outside, probably the former."

" _Shit. Can you see any way out?"_

Simon was nearly tossed off his feet as the truck shifted into gear beneath him. "No, and even worse, the truck have started to move."

" _What?"_

"Ugh, sorry. Was listening to those guards for too long. Call you back when I get out, assuming I'm not being tortured or something."

" _...Be careful."_

As the call disconnected, Simon considered his options. He did have a few grenades on him, but he was more likely to blow _himself_ up in this confined space. He could lie in wait and just open fire as soon as the door opened, assuming they weren't expecting that and would have a much larger force prepared, in which case he would quickly become Hiss cheese.

 _Maybe if I throw a grenade and_ then _open fire..._

Fortunately, he didn't get the chance to enact this plan, for the truck came to a sudden stop, this time succeeding in knocking him over. By the time he got back to his feet, the door was open, and no one was there. Confused, Simon slowly exited the vehicle, wielding a grenade in one paw and his assault rifle in the other.

One look at his new surroundings told him that he was now inside the compound of Outer Heatin' itself. It was a large, seemingly empty room made of almost pure metal. All the better for its residents to warm themselves when sunbathing wasn't an option.

A little embarrassed, Simon put the weapons away, but remained on guard. "Major Pain, I-"

" _Are you okay?! What did those monsters do to you?!"_

He was no longer on guard. "Um...nothing. They seem to have just locked me inside a big empty room."

" _Oh."_ Her usual tone returned quickly. " _I guess you weren't worth the cell space. What do you see, Hot Fuzz?"_

Simon climbed on top of the truck to get a better viewpoint. "Not much. A sealed door, a few columns, that's about it."

" _Maybe it's a stealth suit ambush and there's secretly a whole platoon in there with you."_

"I hope not. Those damn chameleons were such a hassle last time." He made another sweep of the room. "No, I don't see any conspicuous shimmering. I think I'm alone in-wait. How long was that box there?"

" _Box?"_

"Yeah, there's this cardboard box that just appeared. It must have been hiding behind one of the columns." Simon narrowed his eyes as it slowly slid _back_ behind one of the columns. "Great. At least now I know who I'm dealing with."

Simon hopped down from the truck and quickly pursued the box, finding it still sitting behind that very column. It made no further movements as he stared it down, not that he was fooled for a second. "I know you're under there."

"What do you _mean?_ I'm just a _box,"_ said the box.

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I _am."_

Simon had no idea how long this exchange could go on if he continued in this fashion. So instead, he brought the conversation to an abrupt end by pulling out another grenade, arming it, and tossing it directly on top of the box.

"Oh, _shit!"_

The explosion destroyed any functionality the former box still had as a tool of stealth. Unfortunately, its occupant was slippery enough to escape the same fate, and as Simon watched the dust settle, a figure emerged from within.

He was a king cobra of a dark grey color, with black bands running across his scales. Several belts of equipment and weaponry were wrapped around those bands, which did little to hamper his movement speed, nor did the knife-like blade attached to the end of his tail. Around his head was a black bandanna, slightly oversized so that it wouldn't be too tight when his hood was expanded, as it was at this moment.

Simon wasn't particularly happy to see him either. "Hello, Cobra."

Compact Cobra was the Sauriet Union's most valuable mercenary and special-ops agent, which spoke of the low standards they must have had for such a position. Simon had crossed paths (and knives) with him on more occasions then he cared to count, and this time, he had _almost_ gotten the drop on him if not for his strange obsession with storage containers. "Simon _Maskovich,_ we meet _again_ on the _battlefield."_

He also had a very particular manner of speaking, and he was pretty sure it sounded just as odd to the Sauriets. "Stop talking like that."

" _Like that?!"_

"Look, I don't have time to play with you today. So tell me where you're keeping White Fox and what you're planning, and maybe I won't make you into a new purse for my CO."

Cobra smiled, his deadly fangs poking through. "Tough words, but nothing I _say_ could prepare you for _Metal Shell!"_

"Metal...Shell?"

" _Metal Shell!_ A mechanical tortoise with the _power_ to launch shells from any location!" he boasted. " _Nuclear_ shells!"

"That's stupid. But also dangerous, so I guess I do have to kill you now." Simon withdrew his combat knife and slid into a defensive stance, the blade brandished in front of him.

"Then let us do _battle!_ You won't _walk away_ from me _this time!"_ Cobra did the same, his fangs bared and his hood fully unfurled as his knife tail raised behind him, ready to strike.

Feeling pragmatic, Simon whipped out his handgun and fired a few shots. He had underestimated how well Cobra knew him, for the snake contorted his body to the side to avoid every bullet, dropping to the floor and charging him at blinding speed.

Simon needed the knife now, raising it to parry the rapid strikes Cobra made with his tail while grunting loudly. "NNNGH! ERRGH! RAAAA! YRRRRRGH!" Between the sheer ferocity of the assault and the vocal diversion, a few slashes got through, cutting Simon's right arm and his left thigh. Another almost went into his skull, but a well-timed duck left only his beret to take the hit. Cobra paused to look at the hat now speared onto his tail, giving Simon the brief opening to run in and kick him to the floor.

As he leapt in to impale him through his coils, the tail struck again, whipping Simon back into one of the columns. Cobra slithered up another, wrapping himself around it and digging into one of his belts for a new weapon. The tail now emerged wielding a gun attachment, and he wasted no time firing on the raccoon. Bullets whizzed past Simon as he scrambled around the column for cover, trying to return fire. For someone who provided thirteen feet of target practice, Cobra proved surprisingly nimble, shifting his coils up and down to avoid the shots. Simon growled as he was again forced behind the column under fire.

 _Well, I know_ this _will work._ Simon poked out again just long enough to throw a grenade at the base of the opposing column. One explosion later and the structure toppled, bringing a screaming Cobra with it. Simon emerged again to find the snake trapped under the rubble, struggling to pull his other half out. "Stop _doing_ that! You're breaking the rules of _war!"_

Before Simon could dishonor him further, Cobra twisted around and bit into one of his belts, releasing a massive smokescreen that quickly engulfed the room. Simon reeled back, firing a few more shots in the direction Cobra had been, but heard them hit nothing but metal. Either he was still managing to avoid his gunfire even when he couldn't see it coming, or…

Cobra lunged from the left, venomous fangs bared. Simon dodged instinctively, glimpsing the poison dripping from them in slow-motion before time resumed and he disappeared into the smoke again. Simon took a deep breath and closed his eyes, concentrating on the sound of movement around him. Cobra proved surprisingly difficult to trace when he wasn't talking, but Simon successfully avoided his second attack anyway, grabbing him by the tail and swinging him over his shoulder into the floor. Dazed, Cobra attempted to turn the move against him by contorting around Simon's body, which the raccoon only just noticed in time, kicking away from the encircling coils before they could bind him. Cobra hurriedly darted back into the smoke just as it started to dissipate, vanishing along with it. Simon stepped back slowly, his senses focused.

" _How's it going?"_ Karen asked, startling him more than he'd like to admit.

"Oh, you know, fighting for my life. Typical Tuesday."

" _Cobra?"_

"Yep. For how annoying he is, I sometimes forget that he's the Scalies' top mercenary for a reason. Any advice?"

It was a few, anxious seconds before she replied. " _From your past encounters, I get the impression that Cobra prefers to keep his opponents off-balance, knowing that his skilled knifework, slippery coils, and deadly venom are enough to shake up anyone's concentration and put them on the defensive. You need to take that advantage away from him. You need to be bold."_

"Bold? That's how I got into this mess in the first place."

" _I'm not telling you to be reckless, but boldness is the only way you'll put him down for good. Be bold, Hot Fuzz!"_

His eyes lit up in comprehension. "Yes...I understand."

As soon as the call cut off, he found Cobra. The snake was leaning against the wall, casually perusing the same issue of _PlayBoa_ he'd discovered earlier. He looked up, seeing Simon staring at him. "Oh, are you _finished_ now? I was being _polite!"_

Simon wasn't bothered, nor did he open fire. Instead, he simply withdrew his knife and charged. " **Is that the best you've got?!"**

Cobra flinched, dropping the dirty mag and backing away as Simon stabbed at where he'd been. "What was _that?!"_

" **What's the matter?! Come a little closer!"** Simon roared, kicking off the wall to boost himself after Cobra, successfully stabbing the knife into his coils.

" _Aggh!_ I don't _understand_ it, but your manner of _speaking_ hurts my _eyes!_ How I wish I had _eyelids!_

" **Now to finish this!"** Simon leapt away, his knife covered with snake blood and thirsty for more. He charged back in and lunged for Cobra's neck, seeing his head move just a second too late.

As the clash ended, Simon fell to the floor, groaning in pain. But he was in significantly better shape than Compact Cobra, who had his knife lodged in his throat and was coughing up blood.

This somehow didn't keep him from talking. " _I-Impressive!_ You have finally beaten me, _Maskovich._ I am _quickly_ losing blood _,_ and have but moments _to live,_ but with the last few breaths _within_ me, I must tell you my _life story._ I was born in-"

"Shut up." Simon unceremoniously shot him through the skull and silenced him for good.

" _Stealing my lines now, huh?"_ Karen asked dryly. " _Well, whatever, you beat him. Now let's get a move on. That superweapon isn't going to blow_ itself _up."_

"And we need to save White Fox."

" _Sure, that too."_

Simon tried to stand, but a crippling pain suddenly shot up his left leg, making him collapse again. Examining the cause, he ripped open a part of his pant leg where the pain was strongest, grimacing at the sight of two distinct puncture wounds in his flesh. "Uh oh."

" _What's uh oh?"_

"I think Cobra bit me."

" _...How bad is it?"_

"It appears to be slowly darkening my flesh and sizzling ominously, so I'd say pretty bad." It was amazing what years of war did to your sense of horror.

She tried to hide it, but he could hear Karen's voice hitching. " _If that venom spreads to the rest of your body, you won't see the next sunrise. It needs to be stopped before that happens. You know what you have to do?"_

Simon looked down at his infected leg, then to the knife still protruding from Cobra's neck. "Yes. I'll do what needs to be done."

As the heat of battle faded away, the pain only grew stronger. Unable to stand, Simon crawled across the floor towards his only hope of salvation. He knew that in the pursuit of triumph, a sacrifice was sometimes required, and it was only a matter of time before his turn came to make one. He wouldn't hesitate, for his will to live and fight for his beloved homeland was strong. Too strong for something as petty as primal fear to ever compare. For the sake of mammalkind everywhere, it was a small price to pay.

Fighting down the pain, Simon reached his goal, pulling the knife from Cobra's neck and wiping it down on his shirt as best he could, which he insisted to himself was not stalling. Finally, he steadied his nerves, holding the blade above his left leg. This was not going to be pleasant. "For Zootopia."

" _So did you inject the antivenin yet?"_

Simon froze, still holding the knife. "...What?"

" _The antivenin I packed with your medical supplies in case you got bitten? Don't tell me you forgot about it."_

He quietly slipped the knife back onto his belt. "No...I was just...considering other options."

" _What are you, afraid of needles? You don't_ have _other options, Hot Fuzz. Not unless you chop your leg off or something."_

"Of course not. That would be silly." He soon found the antivenin packed in with his supplies and, trying to forget the past two minutes, stabbed it into his leg. It stung, but significantly less than his near-alternative. A _very_ small price to pay. "It's done."

" _Good. You should be okay then. Can you stand?"_

It took a few tries, but Simon managed to get back to his feet. "Yeah. Might need to take it slow for a bit though."

" _Not_ too _slow. Sooner or later, someone else might actually come into that room. See a way out yet?"_

"That big metal door is open now, for...some reason. I guess I'll go that way." Simon started to limp his way out of there, the feeling in his leg slowly returning. "Actually, I should probably thank you first. You may be bitchy, sarcastic, and condescending, but at least I know you'll always have my back, Major Pain."

" _And I always will,"_ she said softly. " _Be all of those things. I'm your commanding officer, after all. And your genetically-enhanced clone."_

"Excuse me?"

" _Kidding. Now enough sap, kick your leg in the ass and get going!"_

He chuckled. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

 _Because the Metal Gear jokes in Chapter 26 just weren't enough, we went and made a full-blown parody! Like most such parodies (coughNickWildeAceAttorneycough), we look forward to seeing the divide between those who get the jokes and those who are left very very confused._

 _Mind Jack is one of the latter, by the way, having never played any of the games. Let's call this revenge for all the pro-wrestling references that went over my head. (Jack: Joke's on you. I got most of those references.)_

 _It's because of shit like this that Simon currently suffers from PTSD: Parody Too Strong Disorder. Good thing this is only a drabble, and likely not one we'll be continuing despite the open ending unless people really want it. There_ will _be other Simon drabbles though. We still need to take his leg, after all, and we already know how it happens. ;)_


	5. The Girl With the Dragged-On Hullabaloo

_Welcome to a very special edition of Born to Be Drabbles. So special that it gets posted as a double-feature with the last one. So special that it should've been posted around Chapter 20 or so. This one is long overdue, folks, and it's not going to be immediately apparent why._

 _So let's move the action away from Zootopia (or Giraffrica) for a bit and take a peek into Bunnyburrow, which we haven't visited since...literally ever. That's what happens when the story stops being about Judy, I suppose._

* * *

 **Drabble 5: The Girl With the Dragged-On Hullabaloo**

 _Bunnyburrow_

 _Gideon Grey's Real Good Baked Stuff_

 _7: 30 AM_

It was another beautiful morning in the suburb of Bunnyburrow. The sun was shining, the crops were blooming, and the population sign continued to tick upward at an impossibly fast rate. Gideon was sure at this point that it had to be a local prank, but he wasn't comfortable enough to ask. He had more important things to do anyway.

Like baking pies! It was barely past dawn and he already had plenty of customers to serve. That's life on a farming community for you. Even as a nocturnal predator, Gideon was more or less forced to become a morning mammal to stay in business. Luckily for him, his bright pink apron and naturally cheerful demeanor helped that immensely.

"Here ya go, ma'am," he said politely, handing off a pumpkin pie to a smiling bunny mom and her bouncing daughter.

"Mighty kind of you, Gideon," she replied, trying to keep the young doe from getting at the treat already as they headed out the door.

His establishment was small and humble, much like himself. A lot of white and pink was involved in the design and there were flowers hanging from every wall, not entirely by his own choice. His sponsors simply thought that a fox-run bakery in Bunnyburrow would get more attention if they could make it look as non-threatening as possible. Ironically, they had little issue with Gideon himself, apparently not aware of his less-than-proud history in the community. They did keep him from putting his face on the advertising though.

The bell above his front door rang and in came another customer, one of his regulars. "Good morning, Mr. McGregor."

"Now, Gideon, I told ya to call me Peter," the old farmer said warmly, tugging on the straps of his overalls. "I'm here for my usual."

"One chocolate-covered cheesecake coming up!" Gideon announced, walking back into the kitchen to grab the pre-baked good and bringing it out to his customer. "Here ya go, Mr. McGregor. Still keeping this under wraps from your wife, I hope."

"She'll take my guilty pleasures over my dead body," he muttered, taking the cake and leaving his payment behind. "Ya know, some folks say that foxes are red because they're made by the devil, but I say that's just the color of angels blushing."

"Aw shucks, don't go and make _me_ blush," he laughed, waving him out the door. To think, at one time, he had been Gideon Grey: terror of the playground. Now he was Gideon Grey: kind to the elderly and friend to all children. It was amazing how much could change in such a relatively short time. And he owed at least part of that to a kind, heartful girl who had kicked him in the face.

The bell rang again and in walked another customer. But this was not one of his regulars. In fact, he was fairly certain he had never seen this particular mammal before. The sight made him gape in shock before he realized how impolite that was and covered his mouth. It had just been so long since he'd seen another fox.

And what a fox she was. A grey fox to be precise, one in color and not just namesake like himself. Not only that, but her choice of fashion was...unconventional. She wore a tight-fitting black tank top emblazoned with the unusual design of a fox skull sticking its tongue out and winking, however a skull could do either of those things. She had a similar pair of black jeans; both were torn in several places and connected by a studded belt that itself seemed to have a chain wrapped around it. There were arm warmers around her wrists and fishnet stockings around her ankles, each highlighting her black paws and claws painted purple. There was a spiked collar around her neck and he was fairly certain she had put it there on purpose. Her eyes were purple, cold, and shrouded by eyeliner.

To say that she stuck out like a sore thumb would be the understatement of the harvest season.

The vixen strolled over, completely unconcerned with the stares she got from the other patrons still hanging about and looking at his selection. Gideon needed a second to regain composure himself, but quickly put on a polite smile. Just because this newcomer had an odd taste in clothing, he wasn't going to make any judgements. A customer was a customer. "Good morning, ma'am. Welcome to Gideon Grey's Real Good Baked Stuff. How may I help you today?"

"Help me?" the stranger asked. "Or help yourself?"

Gideon stared blankly. It was pretty early and he wasn't fully awake yet, but that didn't _sound_ like an order for a baked good and he wasn't sure how else to respond. "Help...you?"

"Don't you see it? The injustice our kind receives here?" The other patrons had noticeably left, though Gideon wasn't sure that had to do with her _species,_ per se. "That customer who was just here is a perfect example."

"Peter McGregor?" Gideon asked, more confused than ever. "Nah, it's no big deal keeping his dietary habits a secret. I myself have a weakness for custard. Ya can probably tell." He let out a good-natured laugh, patting his belly.

The stranger seemed surprised regardless. "What? No, I meant-"

The bell rang once again, and another rabbit entered. He was even chubbier than Gideon, wearing a white wife beater that read, "I hate foxes!" in very large print. This statement was evidenced by him blatantly wearing a canister of _Fox Away_ fox repellent on his belt and wielding a fox taser in his paw. His other paw held a bottle of some unidentified, but clearly alcoholic, beverage that he took a swing from. "Hey! Is this here that there fox establishment ay keep a-hearin' about? Ay have some choice wawds ta share with those lowlife varmints!"

His drunk, indignant expression vanished as soon as he saw the other fox in here with him, who was currently glaring daggers at the rabbit. He gulped, smiling nervously. "Oh, was I supposed to come in first?"

"Excuse me just a second," the vixen said, approaching the bunny and promptly dragging him out of the bakery by his ears. She soon pulled him out of sight, leaving Gideon alone with his thoughts.

 _I didn't leave the oven on, did I? I don't think I did. Heavens to Betsy, I better go check just to be sure._

Gideon turned away and headed into the kitchen. Outside, a bloody bunny ran past the front door, pursued by a furious fox. "Get back here, you useless piece of manure!"

Gideon emerged again a second later. _Phew, false alarm. Sure am glad I checked though._

The gothic fox reentered soon after, brushing dust from her paws and looking very pleased with herself. "Man, can you _believe_ that guy? Who would've thought someone like him would just randomly show up like that?" She shot him a smile very similar to the one he just saw on that rabbit. "You see what I mean? Foxes everywhere have to deal with completely spontaneous prejudice like that. It's tragic, really."

"Ma'am, I respect yer opinion as a customer, but you are making me a mite uncomfortable," he replied honestly, weakly gesturing to his shelves of goodies. "So...do ya want a pie or something, or…?"

"You _should_ be uncomfortable!" she pressed, getting uncomfortably close to his face on top of that. "But I'm here to propose a solution."

His eyes shifted left and right. "Okaaaaaay…"

Emboldened by his reluctant consent, she reached into her jean pocket and pulled out a pamphlet. It depicted another local suburb, one that was a fair distance away, but well-known regardless. For all the wrong reasons. "Foxgrove: a safe haven for all vulpinekind," she described with all the enthusiasm of a public radio host. "Here, your exceptional culinary talents will truly be appreciated. You'll be given your own townhouse suite, a generous startup fee, and a consumer base who will judge you not by the color of your fur, but by the content of your confectionaries."

It was then that Gideon finally realized she was trying to sell him something. He took the pamphlet just to be polite. "Well, that sounds like a mighty fine offer, ma'am, but I couldn't relocate. Bunnyburrow is my home, and while some folks might take issue with me around here, I've made a lot of friends too."

"Come on, you can't tell me a populace of bunnies could accept you so easily!"

He smiled softly. "I didn't say it was easy, ma'am. It took a lot of time and effort to improve myself and fit in here, but at the end of the day, it was all worth it. I guess ya could call it a redemption of sorts. After all that, there's no way I could leave."

The stranger deflated, evidently not expecting to be shut down so quickly. He couldn't help but feel a little sorry for her. "But...if ya want, I could part with a complimentary pie, since ya went through the trouble of coming here and all."

He could tell that she hadn't given up on convincing him as soon as he said that, the gears visibly turning in her head as she thought it over. She had no real reason to stick around and continue trying to sell him on this unless she had a good excuse, and chowing down on a tasty treat was as good as any. Gideon wouldn't have made it this far if he didn't have _some_ sense of business savvy. "Besides, for all of yer talk about my baking, have ya actually tried any of it before?"

She tensed up. "O-Of course I've tried it! I I couldn't have enough of your lies-I mean pies! But just as a reminder...what flavors do you have?"

Now that they were on a familiar topic, Gideon finally started to relax. "Well, we've got quite a wide variety, ma'am. There's apricot, lemon, pumpkin, pineapple, blueberry-"

" _NO!"_ she screeched, nearly giving him a heart attack. He had relaxed too soon. "Sorry. I'm...allergic."

"Must be some allergy," he said, shaking it off. "Any preference then?"

Five minutes later, the strange vixen was seated at one of his tables, eating a slice of _black_ berry pie. He really should've guessed that. "How do ya like it?" he asked, remaining as hospitable and self-conscious as ever.

She shrugged. "It's alright, I guess." But her wagging tail sent a very different message.

Gideon beamed, pleased with the private compliment. Normally, that would be good enough for him, but while he wasn't usually the nosy type, he had to admit he was very curious about this particular customer. "So...Foxgrove, huh? I take it that's where yer from?"

She swallowed her latest chunk of pie, a bit hurriedly in her haste to answer. "Oh yeah, it's great there. Especially as of late. Our economy has really been booming with all the new business in town. Would be an awesome time to move in, hypothetically speaking."

 _New business? Is that what you're trying to recruit me for?_ "What about you?"

"I run one of the biggest." He meant what her life was like, but he'd take any insight he could get. "It technically belongs to my dad, but he's been off on a business trip for a while, so he left me in charge. Since then, I've been taking matters into my own paws, trying to draw in whatever fresh blood I could find so that Foxgrove remains the ultimate haven of foxhood." There was a strange dissonance in her voice, like she couldn't decide how she felt about that. "All the cool foxes are moving there, or so I hear."

"That's a noble goal," Gideon said, hoping that he wasn't getting her hopes up too much. "I'm sure yer dad will be proud."

"That would be a first." She winced, gritting her teeth. A clear sign she had let too much slip out and was quickly guarding herself again. "A-Anyway...how about that Foxgrove? I heard it was rated a 99% perfect place to live, except that there's no bakery around. Weird, huh?"

Gideon was silent.

"Ugh, fine, you _win_ , okay?!" She stuffed a large piece of the pie into her mouth, talking right through it. "I know I'm bad at this. You don't have to rub it in."

"Um…"

"I don't need this!" She got up abruptly, still talking with her mouth full. "You can keep your bunny-loving bakery to yourself for all I care!"

"Er…"

"I'm heading back to Foxgrove! Enjoy being stuck out here in the boonies, you...you...fat guy!" She kicked her chair over and stormed out of the bakery.

 _What just happened?_

She stormed back in, snatching up the pie she'd left behind. "And I'm taking this too! Just try and stop me!" She stormed back out.

"It was a free pie…"

She stormed back in, slamming a bill onto the table. "10 bucks better be enough! Deal with it!" She stormed back out.

"It was...a free...pie…"

Thoroughly browbeaten as he was, Gideon couldn't accept this payment, especially once he took a closer look at the bill she left behind. "Hey, wait!"

He rushed out the door, running pretty fast for someone of his stature. Ignoring the several greetings he received from the locals, (which he still felt guilty about to this day) he sought out the temperamental goth, catching sight of her just as she was about to round another corner. "Hold on!"

She stopped in her tracks, scowling at him as he finally caught up, panting breathlessly. "What is it? Haven't had enough watching me squirm yet?"

He held up the bill. "You can keep this. And the pie."

"That's all you wanted?" she asked, her anger defusing. "So I forgot it was free. Just consider that a tip then."

"It's a $100 bill."

"Huh?" She looked at it again, realizing that she had missed a zero. "T-That's what I meant, obviously. It's a generous tip."

"With all due respect, ma'am, I'm not sure I've done anything to warrant that."

"What are you, a cop? It's for putting up with me." She sighed, seeking solace from the warm pie in her paws. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. I can be a bit...defensive, when I don't get what I want."

"No hard feelings," Gideon said, smiling. "I wasn't always such a ray of sunshine myself. We all have our demons."

"Some stronger than others," she replied, smiling back ever-so-slightly regardless. "Thanks anyway. That was pretty cool of you. I'd still like to have you in Foxgrove, but maybe I'll settle for swinging by here every now and then. You do make some damn good pie."

"I've been told," he admitted, blushing.

"See you around, ya big dork," she laughed, waving back as she started to walk away again.

Gideon could've left it there and called it a day, but after everything he'd been through with this girl, he had to know at least one more thing. "What's your name?"

She stopped just long enough to look over her shoulder at him. "Vexey." Then she rounded the corner and disappeared.

And so Gideon was left with a name, a lucrative tip, and a big steaming pile of curiosity. Almost subconsciously, he pulled the pamphlet she had given him out of his pocket and looked down at it, seeing the so-called "ultimate haven of foxhood" staring back at him.

 _Vexey, huh? Wonder what her story is. Ah well, I better get back before those kits get into my sweets again._

Gideon hurriedly slipped away, back to his humble bakery.

* * *

 _Suburban Outskirts_

 _7:55 AM_

Meanwhile, Vexey continued to walk away, occasionally partaking in the world's most expensive pie, until a large vehicle cut into her path. It was an SUV, built for just this kind of all-terrain driving, and painted completely black. "It's about time you got here," Vexey said, climbing into the back seat. The car took off again as soon as she did, making a beeline back to Foxgrove.

"So how'd it go?" asked the driver, a skinny, black-suited corsac fox in shades. His ears were pointed rigidly up.

Loud sniffing filled the air. "Couldn't be all bad if she brought back pie," said another fox in the seat next to him, completely identical except that his ears were perpetually drooped.

They had names, but Vexey could never bother to remember them, so she always just called them Up and Down.

"Hate to break it to you, but the job was a bust. You can cross that bakery off our list," she said bitterly.

"Yeah, but you still got pie," Down insisted. "You know what they say: every pie has a silver filling."

"You can't have my pie," she said firmly, holding it away.

"That's a shame," Up said. "Not about the pie, about the bakery. But at least you did your best, right?"

Vexey pursed her lips. _Let's see. I bungled my manipulation, got caught in a lie, freely shared unnecessary information, apologized to my mark, and ended up paying_ him _a small fortune._ "Yeah. I did my best."

"Good. And hey, there'll be other chances. Don't need to fret just because your mighty criminal empire is somewhat lacking in baked goods."

"Except that it's not _my_ empire, is it?" she asked pointedly. "I'm just borrowing it for a while."

"Well, then maybe that should change," Down suggested.

"...What do you mean by that?"

It was Up who answered. "If you really want to prove how worthy you are of ruling an empire, then maybe you should start by claiming it for yourself. How can you expect to get anywhere by living in your father's shadow, Lady Reynard?"

Vexey leaned back in her seat, pondering this. "That's a rather treasonous idea you two have given me. Care to explain why?"

Down shrugged. "Hey, you're not the only one sick of living under the Count's rule. He acts all friendly and jokey, but you can tell he's looking down his pointy nose at everyone. At least with you, we can sort of relate to being underappreciated."

"Besides, by his own philosophy, anyone who can outfox the Count is more worthy of being in charge anyway," Up added. "He couldn't even complain."

Vexey stroked her chin, getting more and more invested in this train of thought. "Yeah...I could finally show the old mammal who's boss. _Literally!_ And not just him, but his precious _Nicholas_ too. The golden boy so special that Daddy ditched me in a heartbeat as soon as he found out he went cop. I've never even met the guy and I'd gladly put a bullet through his head. Then we'll see who isn't _fox enough!"_

Vexey looked down at her pie again, then passed it to the front. "I change my mind. You deserve a reward for giving me such brilliant inspiration. Continue serving me instead of my father and you'll get even better treatment. How does 'Royal Attendants to the Queen of all Foxes', sound?"

"Sounds delicious!" Down said, currently buried up to his muzzle in pie.

"What exactly does the 'Royal Attendant' position entail?" Up asked curiously.

"You know, giving me advice, enforcing my will, rubbing my feet, that sort of thing."

"Eh, works for me."

"Me too!" Down agreed, licking his lips.

Up glared at him through his shades. "Did you eat that entire pie?"

"Don't worry, I'll buy you another," Vexey reassured him. "In fact, as my first royal decree, _everyone_ gets pie!"

"Yeah!" Down cheered. "Long live the queen!"

"Long live the queen!" Up joined in.

"Long live the queen!" Vexey finished, smiling contently. Thoughts of glorious conquest began to take over before they even made it back to Foxgrove.

 _Oh yes, I could get_ used _to this._

* * *

 _So begins the central, overarching plot of Born to Be Drabbles. Yes, there is a central, overarching plot of Born to Be Drabbles._

 _Meet Vexey, Reynard's daughter and Nick's little sister. If that feels like an out-of-nowhere twist to you, then here's a bigger surprise: Reynard has hinted at her existence no less than three times in the main fic thus far. (There's a reason we wanted to start this around Chapter 20.) Like the rest of Nick's relatives, she is named after another Disney fox. In this case, Vixey from The Fox and the Hound._

 _But like all things Drabbles, this will not be required reading for the main story in the interest of not confusing the (disturbingly many) readers who have yet to venture over here. Vexey will be our little secret for now, with the events of her arc gradually unfolding every few drabbles or so. As such, you'll also be seeing more frequent drabbles from this point forward, at least one with every new chapter. Probably._

 _So say goodbye to Vexey for now, but we'll be seeing plenty more of her to come. ;)_


End file.
